The pleasant correspondent of Mr. Urban, whose account of his squirrels
is introduced on the seventh day of the present month, was induced, by
Mr. Cowper’s experience in the management of his hares, to procure a
_hare_ about three weeks old. “The little creature,” he says, “at first
pined for his dam, and his liberty, and refused food. In a few days I
prevailed with him to take some milk from my lips, and this is still his
favourite method of drinking. Soon after, observing that he greedily
lapped sweet things, I dipped a cabbage-leaf in honey, and thus tempted
him to eat the first solid food he ever tasted. I beg leave to add to Mr
Cowper’s bill of fare, nuts, walnuts, pears, sweet cakes of all kinds,
sea biscuits, sugar, and, above all, apple-pie. Every thing which is
hard and crisp seems to be particularly relished.--The iris of the hare
is very beautiful; it has the appearance of the gills of a young
mushroom, seeming to consist of very delicate fibres, disposed like
radii issuing from a common centre. I shall be glad to be informed by
any person, skilled in anatomy, whether this structure of the iris be
not of use to enable the eye to bear the constant action of the light;
as it is a common opinion that this animal sleeps, even in the day-time,
with its eyes open. I have observed, likewise, that the fur of the hare
is more strongly electrical than the hair of any other animal. If you
apply the point of a finger to his side in frosty weather, the hairs are
immediately strongly attracted towards it from all points, and closely
embrace the finger on every side.”
It should be added from this agreeable writer, as regards the
_squirrel_, that he was much surprised at the great advantage the little
animal derives from his extended tail, which brings his body so nearly
to an equipoise with the air, as to render a leap or fall from the
greatest height perfectly safe to him. “My squirrel has more than once
leaped from the window of the second story, and alighted on stone steps,
or on hard gravel, without suffering any inconvenience. But I should be
glad to have confirmation, from an eye-witness, of what Mr. Pennant
relates on the credit of Linnæus, Klein, Rzaczinski, and Scheffer, viz.
that a squirrel sometimes crosses a river on a piece of bark by way of
boat, using his tail as a sail. Not less astonishing is the undaunted
courage of these little brutes: they seem sometimes resolved to conquer
as it were, by reflection and fortitude, their natural instinctive
fears. I have often known a squirrel tremble and scream at the first
sight of a dog or cat, and yet, within a few minutes, after several
abortive attempts, summon resolution enough to march up and smell at the
very nose of his gigantic enemy. These approaches he always makes by
short abrupt leaps, stamping the ground with his feet as loud as he can;
his whole mien and countenance most ridiculously expressive of ancient
Pistol’s affected valour and intrepidity.”